


This Path of Light and Shadows

by kereia



Category: Killjoys (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13099359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kereia/pseuds/kereia
Summary: While Pawter is struggling to come to terms with her actions during the uprising of Old Town, Delle Seyah is scheming and enjoys twisting the (proverbial) knife.It's up to Pawter and Johnny to figure out how to outplay Delle Seyah at her own game.





	This Path of Light and Shadows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karrenia_rune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/gifts).



> I, too, will never forgive this amazing show for killing off Pawter (Or Alvis, for that matter. Why, show? Whyyyy?). I loved her, and I loved her and Johnny together, so I was seriously happy when I read your letter, because my immediate reaction was: YES! Fix-it fic, here I go! ;-D. I wish you a wonderful holiday season and all the best for 2018.
> 
> Happy Yuletide!

 

 

Delle Seyah Kendry accepted the knife, her expression inscrutable. She weighed it in her hand for a moment as she studied the contract in front of her.

Pawter's shoulders tensed. The air inside the Royal seemed thick with foreboding, as if the universe itself was holding its breath.

Then, just as anticipation and dread threatened to become unbearable, Delle Seyah drew the blade across her palm. Ruby drops welled up and seemed so at odds with her impeccable appearance that Pawter suppressed the instinctive urge to flinch away from them.

As much as she struggled to mask her disquiet, it became impossible when Delle Seyah turned her head, and Pawter found herself on the receiving end of a cold, flat stare that chilled her to the bone.

Without breaking eye contact, Delle Seyah pressed her palm onto the parchment, where her blood mingled with the ink of her signature.

"I hope you're proud of yourself," she said with a smile that did not reach her eyes.

Pawter swallowed nervously and concentrated on the welcome warmth of Johnny's body behind her. He was a quiet source of comfort and strength, which she desperately needed right now. She forced herself to hold Delle Seyah's gaze, but could not answer. There was no pride left in her. The price that Old Town had paid for its autonomy was far too high, and she would carry the shame of her own deeds until the day she died.

The barest hint of a smile ghosted across Delle Seyah's mouth, even as her hand clenched around the hilt of the knife.

"Enjoy your victory while it lasts," she said, sweetly, then placed the knife onto the bar with an audible thunk.

As Delle Seyah stood, one of the people in her entourage rolled up the contract that granted Westerly its freedom, and without another word the group turned and strode towards the exit.

Pawter inhaled shakily, belatedly realizing that she'd been holding her breath. Johnny's hand came to rest on her shoulder, and she leaned back into his touch, her eyes closing briefly.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out," he muttered underneath his breath, and this small gesture of defiance was almost enough to make her feel whole again.

* * * * *

"I'm not going to give a speech," Pawter said struggling for a firm tone in spite of the silent panic that crept up on her.

Delle Seyah looked at her with amusement. "But why ever not?" she asked not even bothering to hide the laugh in her voice.

She and Pawter were standing in one of the rooms above the Royal, which Pawter had once used as a medical practice. She'd reached an agreement with Pree to restore it to this very function, but progress was slow, and though the space was clean, so far, it lacked all of her equipment. The only piece of furniture was a new exam table, which currently served as a rather inadequate barrier between her and Delle Seyah.

"Illenore, be sensible," Delle Seyah continued when it became clear that Pawter would not answer her question. "Victories are worthless if no one remembers them. And since the Company graciously allowed Old Town to have its freedom…"

"The Company did not _allow_ anything," Pawter interrupted her hotly. In an instant, the rising nausea in her stomach was burned away by white-hot anger. "You had no choice. The people of Old Town fought for that freedom. They _died_ for it."

She had to force the last words out of her constricting throat as tears gathered in her eyes. She would not cry in front of Delle Seyah; she would rather die. Though, the guilt, that was her constant companion these days, tore through her like the blade of a knife.

"And do these people not deserve to be remembered?" Delle Seyah asked, goading her. "Do the survivors not deserve a means to reflect and heal, to celebrate their victory, and mourn their dead? Would you really deny the people of this town, who have been through so much hardship, a means to honor their heroes?"

"Stop it," Pawter shot back. "Don't talk about them as if you care. We both know that you don't give a damn about them, or their families, or anyone on this moon. We are chattel to you. Nothing more."

"We?" Delle Seyah gave her a look of pity. "Oh, Illenore, you really have gone native, haven't you? Not that I blame you," she forestalled Pawter's pithy retort. "I understand that it is much easier to live as their hero, rather than to struggle for respect and influence among the Nine. You did have _such_ a hard time after you stepped into your mother's shoes."

Clenching her teeth, Pawter ignored the barb.

It wasn't difficult. Taking her place as the matriach of Land Simms had been a duty rather than an ambition. And she had been naïve to think that she would be able to help Westerly, once she had secured her position on the council. Instead, she had brought nothing but grief to Old Town. Grief and a fragile independence that the Company would seek to subvert and attack at every turn.

 _Do no harm_. That was the oath she had sworn on the first day of her medical training.

How utterly she had failed.

"I am no hero," she said quietly.

Delle Seyah huffed. "Modesty is such an overrated virtue, really. If you had not boldly taken charge and exposed our plans for Westerly, every town on this moon would be behind a fence by now. Credit where credit is due, Illenore. I didn't think you had it in you." She trailed off, a calculating look warring with what Pawter realized was reluctant respect.

Pawter felt sick. _She knows_ , she thought and suddenly felt light-headed. _Of course, she knows._ A laugh bubbled up in her throat, and she swallowed it at the last second, knowing that she would hear the sharp edge of hysteria in it. It had been too much to hope that her sins would remain a secret. Delle Seyah had found out, and Pawter had no doubt, that she would use that knowledge to her advantage when it suited her.

Her thoughts in turmoil, she realized that she needed to buy time. Playing cat and mouse with Delle Seyah Kendry would always be a perilous task, but to do so while reeling from the blow the woman had just dealt her would be akin to suicide. She needed to clear her head.

Mustering every last shred of composure she had, Pawter straightened her shoulders.

"Think what you will, but I will not give a speech at the memorial ceremony."

It was no surprise that Delle Seyah relented, though it was with a promise to revisit the subject. She had made her point. Pawter had heard it loud and clear.

* * * * *

It was getting dark by the time Pawter made her way to the edge of Old Town. She huddled into her coat, mindful of the cold rain that left puddles on the street. She'd been careful to hide her face beneath her hood. The last thing she wanted, was to be recognized.

She came to a halt at the edge of the last buildings, where, just a few days ago, the containment fence had surrounded the city. Slipping into the shadows of a dilapidated building, she surveyed the ground before her. The citizens of Old Town had placed bricks and stones off to the side, erecting a miniature wall that spanned roughly ten feet and came up to Pawter's waist.

The names of those who had fallen, had been written on or carved into the individual building blocks. Below it, on the ground, family members and friends had left portraits and trinkets, and Pawter could even see the occasional flower, to commemorate their sacrifice.

Even though taking down the fence had been a successful act of defiance against the Company, (At least as far as the citizens of Old Town knew.) a sense of defeat hung above the scene. The air was heavy with grief and loss and the resignation of people who had endured too much injustice.

Drawing her arms around herself, Pawter closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall of the building beside her. She counted her breaths and let that atmosphere seep into her, until it was lodged deep inside her bones.

Since Delle Seyah had said her goodbyes, throwing a last, mocking smile over her shoulder, Pawter had contemplated her options. She could run, of course. Running was _always_ an option, and she had no doubt that Johnny would offer her a place on Lucy, even if Dutch would be less than thrilled about it. But what then? Disembark on the first planet outside of the Quad and leave Johnny behind? Stay with him and Dutch and D'avin? Hidden away on their ship, where her presence would always be a danger to them?

Or should she go in the opposite direction? Confess to the leaders of Old Town what she had done, and throw herself at their mercy? Even if it meant that she might be killed at once?

She only knew one thing for certain: The truth would come out, eventually. Delle Seyah would make sure of that. But maybe, just maybe, Pawter could control how and when.

She rubbed a tired hand across her eyes. She didn't want to die. She also didn't want to run away. It felt as if her sense of justice and her sense of self-preservation were locked in mortal combat. Even Pawter didn't know which side would win in the end. Because of her actions, dozens of people that died, and as ruthless as she had been in that moment, she could not forgive herself in the aftermath.

Digging her nails into her palms, Pawter pushed off the wall, opened her eyes, and found Johnny standing right in front of her. She startled and looked up at him.

"Are you all right?" he asked, gently. "I've been watching you for a good few minutes, now, but I wasn't sure if you wanted company."

At the sight of him, the constriction around her chest eased, and something that had been hard and coiled inside her stomach unwound. Her reaction was instinctive as she leaned into him, resting her forehead against his shoulder and slipping her arms around his waist to hold on tight. She tried to burrow closer into his warmth, and his name fell from her lips with a sigh.

"Hey, now," he said as his arms came up around her. "What's wrong?"

Soaking up the solid strength which was such an intrinsic and unalterable part of him, Pawter reluctantly pulled back far enough to look up. "Delle Seyah stopped by. She expects me to hold a speech at the commemoration ceremony."

Though she could see nothing but concern and sympathy in his eyes, it was difficult for her to hold his gaze. He had been nothing but supportive in the aftermath of the uprising, and had not cast one word of blame her way, but she had seen the shock on his face, when he'd realized what she had done.

"I can't do it, Johnny," Pawter said. "I have no right to. Not when we both know that my name should be one of those scratched into the stones over there."

Johnny grasped her shoulders and ducked his head to looked at her intently. "No, it shouldn't. Don't say that. You did what you had to do. You didn't have a choice."

"You don't really believe that." Pawter shook her head. "And I don't believe it, either," she admitted. "There had to be a better way. If there had just been more time…"

Johnny interrupted her. "There _wasn't_ more time," he said, emphatically. "Sometimes, the only choice you have is to side with the lesser of two evils. And that's horrible. And it sucks. It sucks beyond belief. But if you hadn't forced all these people into attacking the fence, all of Westerly would be so much worse off, right now."

He pressed his lips to her forehead, then cradled her face in his palms to look deep into her eyes. "Do you trust me, Illenore?"

Swallowing hard, Pawter nodded reluctantly.

"Then trust me, when I say this: you are a good person, Illenore Pawter Simms. If you weren't, you wouldn't beat yourself up about this the way that you do."

"But there needs to be justice," she said shakily.

Johnny nodded. "Justice for Westerly means that the Company must be held accountable. They are the ones at the root of it all. They are the ones who need to pay. Not you."

Pawter covered one of his hands with her own, where it rested on her shoulder. She gave him a wan smile. "Delle Seyah knows what I did," she said, hopelessly. "I don't know how she figured it out. But she knows, Johnny."

She didn't need to explain what that meant. He knew. His jaw clenched as he ground his teeth together. His eyes darkened with a fierce protectiveness, and he pulled her hard against him.

"Then we will fight her together," he said, his arms tightening around her as if he never wanted to let her go.

* * * * *

Pawter lay curled beneath her blanket, her back pressed against Johnny's side. Her fingertips were tracing idle patterns on the sheets as she listened to his breathing. It was a comforting sound. She didn't know when she had started to think of Johnny as home, but lying here next to him in the stillness of Lucy's quarters, she'd finally found some semblance of peace.

He shifted next to her. "I thought we'd decided to get some sleep," he said quietly, his voice rough and languid, telling her that he had only just woken up.

"I can't," she answered softly. "My mind is going a mile a minute."

He turned, his arm coming around her. She could feel his breath at her neck, a moment before he pressed his lips to her skin, and her eyes closed as she sank back into his embrace.

"Care to share?" he asked, and she loved him just a little bit more for the sincere interest in his voice.

"I've been thinking, that I have two separate problems here. Delle Seyah knowing that I used the Company's mood controlling technology to create a mob will have personal as well as professional consequences. And I think the professional ones will be easier to tackle."

"Sounds as if you have a plan."

She turned around to face him. "I'll abdicate," she said firmly.

Though the light was dim, it was enough to see his brows shoot up. "You'll step back as the head of Land Simms? Are you sure? It might make you more vulnerable."

Pawter stifled a bitter laugh. "More vulnerable than the assassination attempts and political power grabs my family has to deal with on a normal day, you mean? No, Johnny, my position was always vulnerable. When I went against the Company, I went against the interest of the Nine families. There's no coming back from that. I'll be regarded as a traitor. It's better to hand the reins over to my sister. Hopefully, she can save whatever alliances our family has left."

Johnny looked hesitant. "You're going to ask her to disinherit you?" he asked, following her train of thought to its logical conclusion.

She nodded, feeling a sense of brittleness within her that she hated. “She will need to put as much distance between herself and me as possible.”

He threaded his hand through her hair and rubbed his thumb along her ear. "Wouldn't it be easier to just assassinate Delle Seyah?" he asked, softly.

Pawter gave his shoulder a half-hearted shove. "Don't even joke about that."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Not really joking."

Pulling back, she studied him, aghast. "You really aren't joking," she said after a minute.

He simply shrugged.

Pawter swallowed a lump in her throat. This was a side of Johnny she hadn't seen before, and she wasn't entirely sure she was comfortable with it.

"I don't want you to kill for me," she said, finally. "Promise me. There's been enough death. I'm sick of it."

He regarded her solemnly for a moment, then nodded, and in spite of what she had just said, Pawter knew, at the very bottom of her soul, that if anyone ever harmed _him_ , she would not hesitate to make that person's life a living hell.

She drew him to her and kissed him hotly, desperately, wishing this moment would never end. She wanted to stay here in his arms, locked away from the world, forever.

But eventually, they had to come up for air. Johnny playfully rubbed his nose against hers, in a blatant attempt to inject lightness into a conversation that contained none.

"So, will you stay here with me, or will you go back to being a doctor at the Royal?" he asked.

Pawter ran her hands along his back. "Before Delle Seyah dropped her bombshell, I'd planed to divide my time between being on the council and being a doctor again, but now that the former is out of the question, I don't know if the latter will be possible either."

He pulled back with a frown. "Why not?"

Pawter sighed. "Because I have to tell people, Johnny. I've decided to give the speech at the memorial and come clean."

Johnny set up abruptly. "No," he said, his voice flat.

Pawter pushed herself upright as well. "Johnny,…" she began, but he raised his hands in a placating gesture.

"Hear me out. I agree with you, that since Delle Seyah knows what happened, she's going to use it against us, eventually. But announcing it in public is a bad idea." He reached for her hand, his eyes full of concern. "People are still angry. They are grieving. They're not going to react well. We need to be smart about this." A fierce look entered his eyes. "I do not want to see your name on a kill warrant, Pawter. I don't know what I'd do."

Her smile was full of gallows humor. "Have Dutch take it." She shrugged. "It might make her day."

"Don't joke about that. Dutch might not be a fan, but she will protect you with her life, if necessary."

Cringing just a little, Pawter nodded. "You're right. That was uncalled for."

Johnny pulled her back into his arms. "It's okay."

"So what you think I should do?"

" _We_ need to keep it personal. Approach people one-on-one. We need to talk to Alvis and Pree; they have pull in the community. They can tell us whom we should talk to first, and whom we need to avoid for now. So we can keep you safe."

She pondered his words for a moment and fought off the queasiness that swept over her at the thought of making this particular confession to her friends. It seemed absurd, that a public announcement appeared less terrifying, but so it was.

"I love you, Johnny Jaqobis, but I don't think safety is in the cards for me." She reached for his hand and pressed a kissed to his palm.

"I can try," he told her, steadily. "And for what it's worth, I think you underestimate your own standing in this community. You served Old Town as a doctor for years. They know that you care for them, and they know how many of them owe you their lives."

"That doesn't make it right."

He nodded. "No, but it should be part of the conversation. And if Delle Seyah has it her way, it won't be."

Taking a shaky breath, she tucked her head beneath his chin and let his heartbeat sooth her fears.

"Then we'll do it your way."

The End

 

 


End file.
